


Things Could Be

by sasha_b



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before Cuba.  Charles and Erik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Could Be

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt on Comment Fic: _Because of all the violence and pain in his life, Erik likes his sex as sweet and tender as possible, full of kisses and endearments and general cherishing. He's a little embarrassed by this, but tells Charles or Charles finds out somehow and sweetness ensues._

The night is sticky, and Erik sweats, sitting up in bed, Cuba on his mind, the president’s speech ringing in his ears, his hands unconsciously clenching. He knows what’s coming, and soon. 

He stands, lights off, and pads over to the window, throwing up the sash and cracking the glass, sticking his head out, breathing shallow breaths that force his eyes to blink, slowly, the sweat dripping down his back to wet the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

Charles doesn’t stir, and Erik risks taking a look at him as the other man sleeps, hands tossed near his head, big eyes closed, dusky lashes shadowing the soft cheekbones that Erik now knows are freckled. He shakes his head and turns his back on the other man and the bed he’s spent the night in –

_Erik, Erik_

Charles’ voice as he’d flung him to the mattress, the floor, the wall.

Erik’s back twinges, and he reaches around to rub it, and another hand catches his, soothing the pain as Erik twists his thin mouth and continues to breathe out the window. Stars twinkle and shine and still he hears _Shaw, the beach, tomorrow_ echoing and he’s twitchy and his fingers ache and the two Tiffany (most assuredly real, knowing Charles) lamps behind them shriek and fall to the floor.

“Something the matter?”

Charles’ voice is soft, belying the man he’d been a few hours previous. Erik reaches up and tugs the window closed, pulling out of Charles’ grasp, and bends to pick up the mess from the ruined lamps. He can’t think straight, can’t see straight for worry and fear and _I’m Frankenstein’s monster_ is there on the tip of his tongue and he lets the shattered remains of the Tiffany metal and glass shade float in front of his eyes, left hand flicking barely –

_Kleine Erik Lehnsherr._

He gestures and it flings away from him, shattering further against the bookshelf.

“Erik.”

He stands and the moon lights his back, the scars looping and spiraling – he can see himself through Charles suddenly, and he twists and stares at the other man. “Stop that.”

“You need to calm down,” Charles is next to him, touching him, gentle, soft, so unlike their coupling – Erik clenches all his muscles and feels the strength he’s been toying with, especially over the last few months, and it rises and he feels things rattle, inside his head and in the room.

Lights flicker and the bed frame shudders and Charles’s arms go around him from behind.

Erik stills, the rage he’s all too familiar with rippling through him, down his arms and legs and Charles presses his forehead to the back of Erik’s neck, arms tightening, mind –

His mind –

“Come with me,” Charles murmurs.

They move to the bed, Erik stumbling briefly, thoughts whirling, everything, every pain, sadness, fear, gods the fear he’s felt, the searching for Shaw, for so long. He follows Charles, and the other man seats him on the edge of the mattress, his sweat drying, Charles’ hands on his arms, sliding up and down, touch quiet, what he needs.

The other man’s hair is hanging in his face, and Erik lifts a hand, tucking an errant lock behind Charles’ ear. The brief touch turns into _something_ , tiny, and Erik slips his fingers around the nape of Charles’ neck, tangling there, hair soft and Charles stands between Erik’s legs and kisses him, his hands rising to cup at either side of Erik’s head.

It’s just a kiss, granted.

But Charles touches his back and the scars there and he kisses Erik and holds him and slowly pushes him over, sliding his pajama bottoms off, and when Charles allows Erik to posses him – this time, this time it’s 

Oh God, it’s

He forgets, for a brief time. He forgets the pain and worry and he forgets Cuba and the fact that the humans will know who they are tomorrow, and things might end up the way Charles struggles to understand in the goodness of his heart. He forgets he’s ready for that to happen, and he forgets he can deal with it no matter the fact he thinks the way things are going, right now, right now with this man that tells him he’s not alone, things could be gentle and kind and he could blend the rage with the serenity and he could love it.

And he sees Charles’ face, blue eyes taking up the whole world, and Erik closes his and he’s _taken_ away by the everything he feels – Charles’ hands anchoring him to this and he finds he loves him for it.

He blinks and his brows descend and he thinks _love_ through the gentleness and he buries his face in Charles’ neck, because it’s too much and 

“Erik.”

The moon is almost set – the sun should be coming soon. A breeze blows through the open window, and Charles stands at the foot of the bed, two steaming mugs of coffee held in his beautiful hands, and Erik sits up muzzily, scrubbing at his face. “Morning,” he murmurs, and takes the offered coffee, his stomach twisting at the sudden flash that today is _that_ day.

And he accepts the ache, not because he’s afraid, but because what he’s experienced, here for the past week, it’s going to be gone, no matter what Charles says. He sips the coffee and watches the hint of dawn spike the sky with pink rays. Crossing his legs, he ignores the minute tremble in his fingers. _Rage and serenity._ Only with Charles is this possible.

And when will it end? Because it will.

“It doesn’t have to,” Charles says, sitting next to Erik. “We can find peace, together.” He smiles, and it’s brighter than the sun that’s rising. Erik answers the smile helplessly, shaking his head, knowing what Charles says is a pipe dream, but accepting the arms the other man puts around him, tugging them together, Charles’ lips on his forehead enough to bring swimming wetness to his eyes –

Erik sets his unfinished coffee down and holds Charles back, soft and quiet and things he’s always wanted but never voiced and Charles _knew_ without Erik having to say anything and he should be embarrassed at his lack of strength in this moment but Charles laughs gently.

Erik can’t answer him, because there’s nothing to say. There’s nothing to do but touch, and be comforted for the last time.

The sun breaks over the horizon and it’s the second most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.


End file.
